


Part III: Quam Olim Promisisti

by Fox



Series: Missa Discriminis [4]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-22
Updated: 2000-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-02 16:59:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox/pseuds/Fox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I am not now, nor have I ever been, George Lucas.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Part III: Quam Olim Promisisti

**Author's Note:**

> I am not now, nor have I ever been, George Lucas.

Joma Phrel was miserable. Her scalp hurt. Her ears throbbed. Her throat itched, and it wasn't helped by the fact that her stuffed-up head forced her to breathe through her mouth. Her bones and her muscles and her very skin ached. She knew in about eight minutes the chill would subside, and she'd have to throw off her blanket and go dunk herself in the bath again. In addition to which, someone somewhere was having a carelessly-shielded argument, and the reverberations only exacerbated the pounding behind her eyes. Sinus congestion and Adept migraines were two ailments that should never be experienced concurrently. She ignored her door when it chimed. Whoever it was could come back later, when she didn't feel quite so near death.

The door chimed again. "Joma," she heard. "Joma, we know you're in there." Kenobi. Joma considered reaching out to see who was with him, but her head hurt too much. The idiot chimed again. "Come on, Phrel, open up."

"Go away, Kenobi," she called, tossing the blanket off her shoulders and heading to the kitchen to stick her head in the cooler. The chime rang again. "Kenobi!"

"Joma, it's important," he said. "Don't make me hit emergency."

Joma swore into her icebox, then retrieved her blanket, wrapped it around her shoulders, and went to fling open her front door. "I'd file a complaint for harassment," she said, "but somehow I don't think that would bother you so much. Skywalker. Nice to see you again."

"Knight Phrel." Anakin bowed.

"May we come in, Joma?" Obi-Wan asked. "We do have some important things to discuss with you."

"Oh, fine. You can come in, if you let me huddle in the corner of my couch and feel wretched. And if you don't complain when you catch whatever I've got."

"Fair enough." Both men stepped inside the apartment, waiting until Joma got as comfortable as she could before taking their seats. "I know you'd prefer if we cut right to the chase," Obi-Wan said. "We're here about Sionnach. Have you seen her lately?"

Joma yawned and squirmed. "Not recently. Why?"

"It looks to us," Obi-Wan said slowly, "like it's time for her to leave the creche."

"Really? Congratulate her for me."

"And we can think of no better choice for her master than you."

Joma bit her tongue when she sneezed. For a moment she sat, moaning quietly, pressing the heels of her hands against her temples. When she was satisfied her aching head was returned to its normal state of discomfort, she looked back at her visitors. "I beg your pardon?" she rasped.

"Have you considered taking a padawan, Knight Phrel?" Anakin asked. "We're sure you and Sion would be an excellent match. She's so strong-willed, it'll be tough to find a master who has the patience to deal with her."

"Your padawan-in-law is too polite, Kenobi," Joma snorted. "Patience? Nicely done, Skywalker. What you mean is that I'm stubborn enough myself to take her on."

"Besides which," Anakin persisted, "you know what it is to be Adept. You'll understand her far better than any other master could."

"Normally Adepts aren't trained by Adepts," Joma began.

"Normally there isn't that option," Obi-Wan countered. "If you could have had an Adept master, don't you think that would have been a good choice for you?"

"Listen," Joma said, sitting up straight and impatiently shrugging off her blanket, "setting aside my personal qualifications for a moment, how does young Sion feel about this? Has she had other requests to train her? I mean, ultimately, she needs to make this decision. The Force will guide _her,_ not the rest of us."

"That's true," Obi-Wan said. "But children don't usually recognize when the Force is guiding them toward apprenticeship. We need to prompt them to think about it, you see."

"Yes, yes, yes, but even aside from that," Joma said. "The thing is, Kenobi, that girl really ought to be apprenticed to a healer. That's where her strength is greatest. She could heal before she could walk."

"Believe me, Joma, I know that," Obi-Wan replied, and Joma kicked herself for an insensitive clod. Of course he knew that, and scarcely needed to be reminded; it was his master, now his bondmate, that Sion had healed t the age of five weeks from the other end of the galaxy. Excellent, Phrel, Joma thought. Dust off those debating skills. There's stating the obvious to make a point, and there's highlighting your own foolishness. "And nobody -- with the possible exception of Qui-Gon -- " he smiled wryly -- "is more grateful for that strength of hers than I am."

"Then surely you see that training her as a diplomat or a pilot or whatever would be a misapplication of her talents?"

"Quite the opposite, actually." Perhaps it was Kenobi who had a touch of fever. Joma had never heard him talk nonsense so calmly. "She's fantastically strong in the Force -- on that we agree. And she has a natural, probably inborn, talent for healing. So the thing is, Joma, no matter _what_ she does, she'll be an excellent healer. The question is whether that's _all_ she should be."

"That healing skill needs to be disciplined ..."

"Of course, of course, but with a kid like Sion that'll be a snap. It comes so easily to her, Joma. It would be a shame to have her spend her life learning and practicing something she can _literally_ do in her sleep."

Joma felt herself chilling again, and wearily pulled the blanket up around herself, tucking her feet up underneath her. It was difficult to ache and think at the same time. "May I make you some tea, Knight Phrel?" Anakin offered. "If you have any chakka root, that ought to ease your discomfort a bit."

"Yes, thank you, Skywalker," Joma said distractedly. "Please make some for yourself and Knight Kenobi, as well, if you'd like. Now then. About Sionnach. I think what you're saying is --"

"What I'm saying," Obi-Wan interrupted, "is that she'll be a healer no matter what she does, so she might as well train to be something else as well."

"Right." Joma considered this. "That makes sense, I guess. And she'd wind up being sort of a double agent. A secret weapon."

"Exactly."

"Which reminds me --" she stopped short, remembering that Anakin was not in the select group who was aware of the caliber of disaster indicated by the greater-than-normal number of Adepts. Since that dinner meeting, she and Adi Gallia had kept a careful count of the number of Adept or even just plain awfully strong children coming through their doors; it had continued high for a year or so, but in the past two years had fallen off sharply and returned to a trickle -- and, in their travels, they had not chanced to find any others. The knot of Adepts was therefore assumed to be tied off, and Mace Windu was pushing hard for the Council to be made aware of the danger before it became immediate. But for the moment, they were all sworn to secrecy, so she couldn't discuss it in front of Anakin.

"What?"

"Nothing. My mistake. Carry on."

He looked at her curiously for a moment; she mouthed the words 'I'll tell you later' and glanced toward Anakin, busy in the kitchen. Obi-Wan nodded and continued. "Anyway. Just as you say. Send her out as a negotiator, and they'll be thrown for a loop when she can heal the wounded as well. Send her out as a healer, and she'll be able to talk them out of wounding one another in the first place."

"You've obviously given this some thought," she coughed.

"A bit. Now, you're right that she'll need to consider other masters -- I mean, if she wants to study agriculture, and there's a master she'd be happy with in that area, that'll be that. But Anakin wasn't kidding -- I don't think there are very many who would consider themselves able to train that child."

"Or willing."

"Or willing." Obi-Wan looked intently at Joma for a moment. "Doesn't it feel right, Joma? Can't you sense that it's meant to be?"

"Oh, stop that." She threw a sofa pillow at him. "I'll talk to the Council. I'll _ask_ them to consider offering me Sion's training. But they'll argue. I'm sure they won't think I'm a particularly good influence."

"We'll stand behind you. We'll endorse your request."

"Will you, now? And whom, exactly, do you mean by 'we'?" She coughed again as she accepted her chakka root tea from Anakin, nodding him her thanks. "It hasn't escaped my notice, Kenobi, darling, that you're here, and Master Jinn's padawan is here, but Master Jinn himself is nowhere to be seen. Why do I think this scheme might not have his full support?"

Anakin flushed and looked at the floor. Obi-Wan cocked his head in concession of the point. "Quite right. He doesn't like the idea that Sion is old enough to be a padawan. But none of us can deny it forever, Joma, and when he comes around, he'll take our part as determinedly as he takes the other now."

"Well, that's true. Occasionally wrong, but never in doubt, Master Jinn. But just how much does he not like the idea now?"

"Oh, a lot." Joma raised an eyebrow. "He hates it." She raised the other. "He was more than predictably upset. Shouted a bit and went to spar."

Joma cursed under her breath. Of all the people who could be causing her splitting headache, it would be Kenobi and Jinn. She turned to Anakin. "Padawan Skywalker," she said, "does your master know you're here?"

"No, Knight Phrel," he said.

"Would he have ordered you not to come?"

"Yes, Knight Phrel."

"Did he?"

"Yes, Knight Phrel."

"So what you're saying, Kenobi," she resumed conversationally, "is that you've disobeyed a direct order from your senior and this boy's master to come talk to me about this, not to mention infuriating your lover, a situation which nobody can help you fix?"

Obi-Wan thought for a moment. "Sounds about right," he said with a grin.

"Excellent. I'm in."

* * *

Qui-Gon Jinn returned to his quarters in a mood only marginally less foul than the one in which he had left them. It was bad enough that Mundi had talked his ear off about the nascent plans to centralize trade under the authority of the senate, or that the knight had stubbornly refused to agree to disagree. Qui-Gon himself was stubborn, but at least he recognized when an argument was unwinnable by either party. Didn't recognize it soon enough to spare himself the frustration of having it in the first place, but he was willing to walk away without a resolution if need be. He had returned home feeling tense about the shoulders and in need of a little overt affection. He was tired and achy and therefore cranky, like a child, but he saw no reason to suppress this. Help was available.

But then Obi-Wan and Anakin had sprung this thing on him about Sionnach going as a padawan, and he'd snapped. When he'd thought they were joking, everything was fine, but when he'd realized they were serious it had been like a physical blow. His carefully-controlled fury over the trade issue had boiled right back up again, and caught his discomfort at the Sionnach idea and enveloped it. Before he knew it he was so tense and angry he had to get out of the apartment and shadow-spar.

He'd left the salle when it seemed that his shadow was winning.

Now, returning to his home in a sour frame of mind, he was surprised to find the place empty. It was well past the hour when most diurnal species were in for the night, if not asleep, but Obi-Wan and Anakin had finished cleaning up from Anakin's date and gone out. Where they had gone, Qui-Gon couldn't begin to guess; he kicked off his boots, poured himself a glass of Anakin's leftover wine, and flopped down on the couch to try to unwind enough to meditate before going to bed. After a few moments of deliberately relaxing his muscles and staring at the ceiling, he rose, left the wine on the table, and knelt in the middle of the room. He took a calming breath, consciously relaxed his shoulders, and set to clearing his mind.

Obi-Wan was the last to leave his thoughts. Qui-Gon had no trouble setting aside thoughts of Mundi, of the centralized trade proposal, of  
Sionnach and masters and padawans and Anakin and sparring and wine, but his consciousness was reluctant to let Obi-Wan go. He smiled slightly to himself, and focused on Obi-Wan rather than trying to ignore him. He would meditate not on nothingness, but on the something he was gladder of than he'd ever been of anything else. He concentrated on the nebulous Obi-Wan-ness in his thoughts, on the red-blond hair, the puzzling-colored eyes, the smile that left him no choice but to smile back. He concentrated on the boy Obi-Wan had been and the man he had become, and the difference between the boy's habit of attending on his master and the man's habit of caring for his lover. He concentrated on the raw spot in his heart that had been smoothed by the years of Obi-Wan's presence, washing over it like the sea over a stone, and he wondered almost out loud how he, Qui-Gon Jinn, could be so fortunate. He reached out with his hand for his glass of wine, and reached out with his mind to find where Obi-Wan was.

He was coming from Phrel's quarters toward home, and he was satisfied about something. The wine suddenly tasted of vinegar on Qui-Gon's tongue. Knight Joma Phrel, Obi-Wan's old debate nemesis, was now on his side in this nonsense about Sionnach becoming her padawan. Qui-Gon recalled specifically insisting that neither Obi-Wan nor Anakin speak to Phrel about the issue, and the first thing they had done was exactly that. He was angrier at that than at the suggestion itself.

Qui-Gon had nearly finished the wine, glass and bottle, and was sitting on the couch replaying snatches of the evening's conversations in his mind when Obi-Wan came home. Anakin was not with him. He heard the door close, felt Obi-Wan sit next to him and say nothing about the bottle, and did not look up. "Enjoy your spar?" Obi-Wan asked softly.

Qui-Gon snapped his head in Obi-Wan's direction. "Did I _enjoy_ my _spar_?" he asked. Does he think I don't know where he's been? he thought, incredulous. Does he think he can say nothing? "Obi-Wan, what did I say before I left here?"

"You said you were going shadow-sparring, love. Or did you find a partner?"

"No!" Qui-Gon leapt to his feet, passively noting the surprise on Obi-Wan's face. "I said that _neither_ of you was to speak to _anyone_ about the merest _idea_ that Sionnach should become a padawan, much less Knight Phrel's!"

"That's right, you did," Obi-Wan said mildly, standing slowly.

"And where have you just come from?!" Qui-Gon didn't wait for an answer. "From Phrel's quarters! You've _been_ talking to her about it! Why?"

"It's dangerous to deny the will of the Force, Qui-Gon. We cannot only accept it when it pleases us."

"But I gave a _direct order._ And you both disobeyed me."

"I beg your pardon?" Obi-Wan had raised an eyebrow. "First of all, if there were direct orders flying earlier, they weren't identified as such. Secondly, you're only peripherally in my chain of command, you know. The Council is my immediate superior; you merely outrank me. And thirdly, though you do outrank me in the field and in the Council chamber and in dire situations where you assume command, you don't outrank me in _our home._"

Qui-Gon had nothing to say to that, which only upset him more. He tried the other tack. "Anakin is _my padawan._"

"Yes, he is. And if you believe he disobeyed your direct order, you must believe that he did so at my instigation." Qui-Gon couldn't keep still; Obi-Wan stood on the spot and regarded him calmly. "But be honest, Qui-Gon. This isn't really about any insubordination, is it?"

"It certainly bloody well is!" Qui-Gon flung his glass aside. The stain it left when it shattered against the wall trickled to the floor like blood running in the rain. Obi-Wan jumped and looked back at Qui-Gon, startled. "I don't like the idea of Sionnach leaving the creche at this age, but I _hate_ that you went behind my back to talk to Phrel about it! After I _specifically_ asked you not to, Obi-Wan! I had hoped that my wishes would be more important to you than just to be cast aside when yours don't agree."

"Oh yes?" The young man's calm demeanor was fading. The suggestion that he had failed to respect Qui-Gon's wishes had not been well-received. "I considered your wishes, Qui-Gon, and chose not to follow them. I am not prepared to stop doing what I think is right because you disagree with _me,_ and I bitterly resent your suggesting that I should." He had widened his base a little and set his shoulders, in an unconscious duplication of a battle-ready stance. His chin was raised the slightest bit, a minuscule show of defiance.

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes and paced. "I would never suggest that you abandon your principles for any reason," he said. "But in this matter I must exercise the privilege of rank -- Sionnach and her well-being are my responsibility."

"In what way is she your responsibility that she is not mine?" Obi-Wan demanded, leaving his rooted spot and pacing as well, following Qui-Gon as they circled each other, eye to eye like predatory animals. "Need I remind you that we've both known her since before she was born?"

"I was _there_ when she was born. I watched her mother die. You were --"

"I was saving the lives of a dozen other children on a direct order from you, and don't you dare suggest that _that_ weakens my relationship with Sionnach. Honestly, the _gall,_ thinking your opinion carries more weight!"

Qui-Gon knew he was much more at ease in a debate of any sort, political or domestic, when his opponent was more agitated than he was. At the moment, on that front he was winning. "My opinion _does_ carry more weight. I was knighted before you were born, Obi-Wan. Only one of us is the master here."

"You're a Master of the order, blast it, not of me and not, I urge you to keep in mind, of Sionnach."

Qui-Gon was losing logical ground, though, and in his mind he could feel his bondmate's pain at the persistence of the rank argument. "Fine. We're both entitled to fret over her and be concerned for her future. _Someone_ has to make the final decision when you and I disagree."

Obi-Wan threw his hands into the air and looked at Qui-Gon in disbelief. "Are you listening to yourself?! It doesn't matter if you and I disagree or sing a damn duet! We don't govern what happens to her. We haven't since she went into the creche."

"I swore an _oath_ to her parents!" Love her, protect her, get between her and danger.

"I was _there,_ Qui-Gon! I was standing right at your side -- not behind you, by the way, because it wasn't as your _padawan_ that I was at that ceremony --" it had been a mistake, Qui-Gon realized, it had hurt Obi-Wan in the heart, to keep asserting his own higher status -- "-- and I _swore the same damned oath._ I considered it my responsibility then, and I consider it my responsibility now."

"You weren't called upon to --"

"No, I wasn't, but what if something had happened to _you,_ hmm? None of which is the point -- the point is, you didn't swear your oath to Dor and Liskat, you swore it to the bloody Force. And the same Force compelled me to do the same, and I did. And the same Force _now_ is telling _everyone who will pay attention_ that it's time for Sion to be trained and it's Joma who has to do it."

Without thinking, Qui-Gon said the first thing that came to his mind. "How can two knights and a padawan know better than a senior master how to interpret what the Force has to say about --"

That did it. The rank-pulling had finally driven Obi-Wan to his limit. "A master who's only two for three in keeping padawans from turning? Neither of _us_ has ever failed."

Qui-Gon stopped. Stopped yelling, stopped pacing, damn near stopped breathing. He sat down, glad to find the couch behind him, and stared at the far wall for a moment, his head pounding, his stomach turning, unable to find words to express his disbelief at Obi-Wan's remark. He looked up, then bent double and buried his face in his hands.

Obi-Wan, too, had stopped walking, a little surprised at himself. He sat next to Qui-Gon on the couch, one leg tucked under him, and turned sideways to face him. "That was uncalled for. I apologize."

Qui-Gon shifted so that he was looking at the floor, elbows on knees, hands on forehead. "Neither of you has ever tried."

"I know." Obi-Wan spoke softly.

"Neither of you knows what it is to lose the person you love most in the world."

"I have some idea."

Qui-Gon persistently did not look up. "One hour you thought I was dead."

"It was the worst hour of my life."

"And losing him to the dark was worse than losing him to death." Qui-Gon was surprised to find, after all these years, that he still couldn't bring himself to speak the name of his lost apprentice. "Would that hour not have been worse for you if you had spent it thinking I'd left you on purpose?"

"I can't begin to imagine it." Qui-Gon could feel, subconsciously, Obi-Wan's distress at having sunk to such a reprehensible level. It had hurt him to hurt Qui-Gon, and if Qui-Gon had not still been in physical pain, he would have pulled Obi-Wan into his arms. As it was, Obi-Wan was doing his determined best to reassure Qui-Gon that the cheap shot had been a lapse -- not groveling, but quietly admitting that Qui-Gon spoke truth.

"I live with that fear every day. I couldn't bear to see Sionnach turn as he did. I know Joma is a good knight --"

"You mustn't let your fear control you. You taught me that." Obi-Wan reached up to pull a lock of Qui-Gon's hair behind his ear.

"-- But she is as headstrong and proud as I was, and I fear Sion will charm her as he charmed me."

"Sion isn't like that. You are, and Dor and Liskat were, different from him." Obi-Wan never said the name either. Qui-Gon fought a compelling urge to lean in to the hand that stroked his hair back from his temple. "He confused trickery for diplomacy. Sion's never been a manipulative child; she wouldn't know how to deceive."

"Then why train her as a diplomat? Why spoil her?" All she'll do is learn how to lie, he thought but didn't say.

"Qui-Gon, a diplomat convinces the subject of the _subject's_ superior wit and intellect and ability. A trickster convinces the subject of his own."

It was an excellent point, and should have made Qui-Gon feel better. But the distinction was so fine, the danger of slipping over the line so great -- can a trickster convince his prey that he's a good diplomat? -- that in a moment of self-loathing he wished he had never heard of diplomacy. I lie for a living, he thought. Nothing about me is real. I promised Dor and Liskat I would -- we would -- care for their child. This is no life.

Calmer now, Obi-Wan seemed to sense his thoughts. "We swore to watch over her only until she could watch over herself."

"She's not of age."

"No, but she's of an age where she needs to find a master and leave the creche. She's not leaving us. We'll always be here for her."

Qui-Gon sighed, heavily, sensing defeat. He had no more arguments and, he realized, no more desire to argue. The will of the Force _was_ paramount, and resisting it would only bring -- had only brought -- sorrow. "Knight Phrel, hmm?" Obi-Wan nodded. "She's a tough one, isn't she?"

"Strong-willed? Just a bit." Obi-Wan smiled slightly. "But no more so than our Sionnach. They'll stand up to each other."

"She'll train her as a negotiator?"

"Like every last one of her parents," Obi-Wan nodded. "Qui-Gon, Sionnach was born of Dorim apNorill and M'Liskatha Vess, and raised by you. She's --"

"By both of us."

Obi-Wan ducked his head to acknowledge the inclusion. "She's got it in her blood and her bones. What else _could_ she do?"

"And I seem to recall that Phrel is quite a debater."

"Consistent first-place finisher. I was always second, remember?"

Qui-Gon nodded, and now he did reach for Obi-Wan, drew him close. "She'll still keep an eye on her healing skills?" he asked, his chin on the other's shoulder, and sighed when he felt Obi-Wan's nod against his neck.

"Joma's going to go talk to the Council tomorrow," Obi-Wan murmured, and Qui-Gon tightened his embrace. "It's probably a good idea for you to join her."

"But it doesn't concern me," Qui-Gon said, a stab of regret piercing him as he finally admitted it to himself. "It doesn't matter what I think."

"It might matter that you think it." Obi-Wan sat back and looked at Qui-Gon, forming his next thought. "Everyone in the order will expect you to oppose the concept with everything you have. When they see that even you agree, perhaps they'll rethink their own opposition."

Qui-Gon knit his brow. "Am I that contrary?"

Obi-Wan grinned and laughed and took Qui-Gon's face in his hands. "You're that committed, love." He pressed a soft kiss to his lover's lips. Qui-Gon closed his eyes and smiled weakly. "When you believe a thing is right, there's no moving you -- especially if it involves Anakin or Sionnach or me -- and the whole order knows it so there's precious few who will try. Yoda, Mace, Depa, Mundi. Joma. Dor used to. And me."

"Indeed. So tomorrow I'll go to the Council and encourage them to approve Knight Phrel's request to train Sionnach." He sighed. "And then after that, what will I do?"

"You'll carry on training your own apprentice," Obi-Wan reminded him. "And carry on fighting about the senate's trade thing. And carry on going where they send you to further peace and justice in the galaxy." He smiled, leaned in for one more kiss, and stood up. "Will you come to bed?"

"Soon," Qui-Gon said, knowing that Obi-Wan would lie awake until he was there. "I need to think about all this for a bit." He looked up at Obi-Wan and reached for his hand. "I love you."

Obi-Wan squeezed. "I love you," he replied. "Good night."

"Good night," Qui-Gon answered, watching him disappear into the bedroom. When the door closed, he turned and looked at the far wall. He sat for a long time, not moving, staring silently at the stain that looked so much like blood.

**Author's Note:**

> So I was talking to Terri Hamill, in the summer of 2000, and railing about the persistent nugget of fanon in TPM that seemed to maintain that if Qui-Gon Jinn had survived, and if he had trained Anakin Skywalker, Anakin would never have turned and All This would never have happened. In the first place, of course, All This could have happened even if Anakin hadn't turned; but in the second place, as much as I like Qui-Gon Jinn, the canonization of the guy had reached truly absurd levels and was, frankly, really annoying. I determined to write something where Qui-Gon survived and Anakin turned anyway.
> 
> That was really the only goal, at the beginning. We threw some ideas around, and I decided to use the Code Breakers universe, because there were some handy-dandy ready-to-use original characters that I knew I'd find helpful. In particular, Terri's Joma Phrel really doesn't get along with Qui-Gon Jinn. She's a useful person to have around sometimes. The orphaned red-haired child, Sionnach (which, yes, it means "fox" in Gaelic -- Terri named her, and it had nothing to do with me), is good to have around to explain things to, and there's the added challenge of not making her a Precious Kidfic Darling. In general, the whole project has been an exercise in taking one or two steps from canon, moving forward for a bit, and then stepping back in line.
> 
> The title, _Missa Discriminis_, translates to English as "Critical Mass" -- I don't normally go in for puns, but I decided to consider this one a double meaning and let it go. :-) Each of the chapters has a title taken from the Requiem Mass, so the whole thing is a Mass _about_ critical mass, I suppose.
> 
> I completed the first arc in January of 2001. My plan has been to have three arcs, ultimately, finishing up at the same time as _Return of the Jedi_ ends. This is proving to be somewhat difficult, but there are plot-milestones in my head -- I haven't put this thing to rest yet.
> 
> For most of the original characters, I have good ideas of what they look like but no specific people in mind to play them. I can report, however, that Jendea Ral is played by Ms. Vanessa Redgrave. :-)


End file.
